


Wash My Soul

by soap_of_mayhem



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: CreePy AsS mErMeN dAwg, F/M, Hannigram - Freeform, Little Mermaid AU, M/M, Sea Creatures AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soap_of_mayhem/pseuds/soap_of_mayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Will Graham has served Frederick Chilton, ruler of the shores of the Marylands, ever since he became a wandering orphan. The boy often visits the sea, fascinated by the secrets hidden under the waters' waves. But one day, young Will Graham witnesses a strange accident; his life will never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A young man not over eleven years of age sat by the sea.

His bare feet sunk their toes slowly into the warm sand. Slowly going under, deeper, deeper, deeper until the boy thought he had reached the bottom. Until he thought they could not sink any lower. He’d then lift his feet, letting the sand fall off his skin, blissfully unaware of the several dozens of meters of broken rock that awaited for the rest of his body bellow.

Will Graham had spent most of his life near the water. But in his short lifetime he had never seen the sea. His sight got lost in the immensity of it. He had seen large dark lakes that sucked the light of the sun that dared to shine through the thick layers of leaves that protected the forest’s grounds where he lived with his poor father until he passed away. He had seen a river running wild, taking large rocks, boats and even animals with its strength…But he never thought about where the waters hurried to.

The young man understood all too clearly now. To the sea. Where everything was quiet. 

Will too had hurried from the forest’s lakes to the vast salty waters, looking for peace and stability. But boys like Graham would never find peace. Some people, said his father, are born with tragedy in their blood. Will had a lot of tragedy to spill.

He shyly peeked over his shoulder, hesitant blue eyes climbing the marble castle’s walls to find a large window. A man stared back at him. Dark beard and jeweled covered clothes glinted with the twilight sun. He stood with both hands behind his back, and despite the distance, Will could see Lord Chilton’s dark eyebrow arching with impatience.

Will huffed when the man beckoned for him to go back inside.

Only those who lived by the sea felt disenchanted by it.

Chilton turned his back and left the framed window. Will angrily threw his feet up, frowning and childishly kicking the air before he began his march back to the castle. But just when he was about to turn his back to the water he saw something very odd. A ship sailed towards the shore. It wasn’t the ship or its behavior that was abnormal but its chosen destination. Sharp black rocks…

Will couldn’t help but stare, wide eyed, half of him fearing for the crew’s life and the other thirsting for the horror of a sinking ship, a happening he had only heard about. This was how ghost ships were born. From tragedy…All legends were born from blood and tears not laughter and bright futures.

Suddenly Will too was attracted to the sharp rocks.

He ran across the sand. It took him a while to get to the shipwreck. Took him enough running for the veins in his legs to burn. For the muscles of his thighs to cramp warningly. Will jumped over a few rocks easily and his bare feet strategically avoided sharp ends, stepping on the soaked grounds carefully to avoid any slip-ups. He saw the ship’s sails tilting over and the deserted deck. But he saw no sailors.

Will wrinkled his nose with confusion, tilting his head almost in a canine manner. Had they jumped? Were they all dead? 

The boy’s eyes searched the sea with great alarm, looking for floating bodies. But the sea was calm and quiet, like a great light green sheet stretched over until the very depths of the horizon. There were no men to be found. 

He walked with some hesitation, unsure if he wanted to find out what had happened to the crew of that ship. He couldn’t see the hole that had been stabbed into the boat’s belly from where he was. Will was far too short and had to circle the beach’s intimidating ship-daggers as they were called in order to see. 

As he got closer to the ship, water began to rise, covering his feet, then his ankles, and then his knees, all the way up to Will’s thighs. He knew where the rocks led him to. A small private lake of salt water, surrounded by the gigantic boulders, letting little to no light through, but enough water for one to bathe in.

It was here that Lord Chilton usually brought rebellious servants.

His dirty pants were getting soaked, but it wasn’t uncommon for Will Graham to arrive to his master’s lair with sand in his hair and water dripping off of him. The only perk of serving Chilton was the water. The boy would have, without any doubt, he thought, killed either the lord or himself if it weren’t for the fresh sea breeze.

A continuous sound grew louder and louder. Will was getting closer. He could hear something very similar to a voice humming…Perhaps speaking. Will wasn’t sure. He tried to walk faster, as fast as the water allowed him. And as he realized he was getting closer Will understood that voice didn’t speak or sing as he thought but grunt and moan. The sounds of a person in pain. Will slowed down where the water got darker, readying himself for the sight of blood, perhaps a broken limb or two. He finally found the ship’s wound…

But Will Graham hadn’t walked slow enough to ready himself for the scenario at hand.

The crew was all there. But there weren’t any corpses floating or men struggling to find sand to stand upon. 

There were body parts scattered around. Bones with pieces of human flesh still clinging to them. Heads with eyes forever rolled back into the brain…The water was darker there. But not because of the shadows provided by the rocks. That was blood. Blood of dozens of men. Will quickly covered his mouth with his shaky hand once he saw a torso gracefully floating past him. Wide open, its ribs decorated with guts and what Will could only guess to be testicles. 

The sight had left the boy dizzy. Something in his throat became moist and warm and for a moment he thought he’d hurl. But the persistent noise stopped him from doing so. Will Graham turned around slowly, staring fixedly at the huge hole on the ship. He saw a man, floating there, lips parting with moans and foreign pleads. But he was alive and had his head still attached to his neck…

Will was panting with worry, jumping into the shallow end of the hidden lake, swimming closer, hoping he could save the sailor. Almost praying he would. But as he got closer he saw a second figure. Two pale hands grabbed on to the whining man’s hips. Pale as the moon. Almost blueish, like a drowned man’s corpse…This person was leaning over the other. Head pressed against the foreigner’s stomach…

They rose their head, sharp white teeth pulling out flesh and skin off the sailor’s belly. 

Will wouldn’t be able to describe what that creature was. It resembled a person. Arms and shoulders and head…Sharp cheekbones and caved in eyes always overshadowed by its brow. But there was a row of teeth there that only sea creatures were supposed to own and no color to its cheeks. It had blood staining its jaw and nose, nails forever covered in a dark layer of crimson. The beast was eating the man alive.

Will stared at it.

And it stared back at Will.

Eyes as dark as the most dangerous depths of the ocean. A sharp hiss slipped through the creature’s thick lips. What happened next was a blur. Too fast for the young boy to understand. 

Will tried to backup, to find a place where he could actually run instead of flailing aimlessly against the water. The monster quickly let go of its meal and sunk. Then, as the poor servant child tried to leave the rocky area, some large fish must have bumped into his legs because he fell flat on his back, hitting with his head against a sharp rock.

He was floating.

Floating in the still dark red waters of the beast’s lair. And Will felt suddenly a breathtaking calmness. He could feel something warm washing over the back of his skull. Blood most probably. It felt…Ticklish. Light.

The fish that had tripped him brushed its scales against Will’s fingers.

But there was no sign of the beast.

And so Will allowed himself to slip into the welcoming, numbing darkness that left him unconscious and floating in nothingness for many hours.


	2. Hungry Mouths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray,  
> Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay,  
> Conversing with a young lass, who seem'd to be in pain,  
> Saying, William, when you go, I fear you'll ne'er return again.

The marble castle was, by far, the greatest piece of architecture ever built. The Marylands were covered by smaller, dirtier, poorer houses; a kingdom of humble fishermen and illiterate captains. Most people had never held a book between their hands and still believed that one could reach the end of the earth if they sailed towards the horizon for long enough. But every child, woman and man knew how to sail, how to row, where to find the best fish, how to use the wind in their favor, which sea-creatures to avoid eating, which areas to stay away from, how to fabricate their own nets...

Will Graham knew nothing.

He had lived inside the thick woods of Wolftrap for eleven years and had only caught a handful of river fish. The truth was Will Graham didn't enjoy the process of fishing. Waiting for his bait to be taken was boring and effortless, watching the creature flapping helplessly until it ran out of air unnatural and the taste almost bitter. Will Graham was more of a hunter. He'd always whisper a prayer against his hands before shooting an arrow or swinging an axe at a poor stag's throat. He'd run his fingers through its' dark fur and sink his knife into its belly, spilling its guts and organs out of its body so carefully one would think Will Graham was painting a picture. No piece of the animal would go to waste. And Will would be rid of its blood by the end of the ritual. But he'd never forget. Will never forgot the lives he took.

Or the ones he touched.

They breathed heavily against each others' mouths. Pale delicate hands held on to Will Graham's shoulders, desperate to find some stability in their erratic movements. Alana Bloom's raven hair was always caught in a beautiful crown of braids, decorated with pearls and small shells. And even now, as she committed such sinful acts, Alana looked like the purest of angels. Will frustratedly pushed her dress upwards in order to grab her thighs harder, moving his hips fast against the woman's body. The sounds that slipped through her thin lips had to occasionally be muffled by Will's own mouth. Hungry, passionate kisses would keep them from getting caught. Will grunted with each thrust and Alana's hands wrapped themselves in his clothes, in his curled hair, his ribs...They searched for something to hold on to. An inch of sanity to keep them from going over the edge. Even with all these precautions the sound their bodies made whenever Will pushed himself deep into the woman's tight entrance echoed against the walls, disturbing the silence, sounding louder than any thunderstorm inside Graham's ears.

Suddenly both of them shivered violently against each other. Will gritted his teeth and Alana's jaw fell open as the man attempted to give one final thrust. There was no sound. The world around them turned white. For a couple of seconds, only they were real. Only they existed. Flesh and warmth and pleasure, nothing more. These were the moments Will looked forward to. The moments in which he and Lord Chilton's young bride met in secrecy, looking for the happiness they thought they'd find by the sea when they were just children. But they had only met misery and pain in those shores...Only inside each other did they find their fairytale ending. Even if it was only momentary. 

Will hid his face in the woman's soft neck, staying perfectly still as he tried to keep the waves of pleasure that washed over him from fading into foam. The warmth spread through his pelvis and legs, numbing him. Alana's legs slowly loosened around Will's waist and her back slid down against the wall. She gently stroked the back of the man's head, licking her lips as she lazily fluttered both pale eyes open. It was over. 

"I wish you'd be gentler..."

Alana whispered as her chest rose and fell back into a healthy rhythm. 

"I wish you'd be nakeder."

He retorted with a raspy voice. 

Alana furrowed her brow, disapproving of her friend's commentary but still, despite her gentle ways, she allowed a small chuckle to escape from the corners of her smile.

"You wouldn't be saying that if someone were to catch us. I don't particularly wish to have myself hanged just yet."

The woman got back on her feet and began to push Will off of her when one of her gentle fingers seemed to find something hidden beneath the servant's dark curls. Alana widened her eyes at him, surprised as she trailed the long scar that stretched out around the back of William's skull.

"Did he do this to you?"

Will clenched his jaw. If he could he'd keep his arms wrapped around Alana forever. He'd have Chilton hanged with his own intestines, rip off his manhood and feed it to the sharks. He'd take Alana away, marry her, spend the rest of his days by the sea, they'd grow old together and die at the same time. And then their happiness would be infinite. But as the porcelain skinned noble woman pushed herself away from his grip, Will realized these were just childish dreams he'd have to give up on. He never did. 

"No, I take all the credit for that one."

"What happened?"

"...I tripped and hit my head."

"That's it?"

"It was over fifteen years ago, sorry if I can't offer you all the sordid details, M'lady."

There was humor in his tone and Alana, sweet soft Alana, wrinkled her nose at him and smacked the man's arm playfully while Will pulled his pants back up.

"You make me sound like a perverted old hag. I remember how I gained every bruise on my body, William. And unlike yours, mine fade."

"Is that why you don't tell anyone about what your dear husband does to you behind closed doors? Because you forget?"

Suddenly her expression hardened. Alana's once childlike eyes turned cold and sharp. She was a bit younger than Will and a lot younger than Lord Chilton, but Alana had the extraordinary capacity to make any man feel like a clumsy teenager with a single glance. This "gift" of hers often wounded Frederick Chilton's pride and those who are too proud don't react very well when a mirror is forcibly held to them. Lady Chilton affirmed to only mock her husband when he did or said something worth mocking. The beatings happened often.

"I forget." Her voice trembled ever so slightly. "...But I never forgive, William."

Alana nudged him out of the way, gathering her long dress in two angry fists, ready to storm out of the chambers and go back to pretend-land, where Chilton was the only man she had ever had eyes for and where Will was just another servant to fetch her things. 

"Alana."

Will called. Alana threw him an ice-cold stare.

"...I saw something. The day I got this scar I... saw a monster."

Something softened in her expression. Will couldn't tell what. The way she looked at him made it unclear whether Alana Bloom thought his honesty was worthwhile or just a side-effect of some unconfirmed mental disease. Will fluttered his lashes, suddenly nervous. 

"I haven't spoken about this in years but...I saw something. I saw something and...And no one believed me."

Her hand let go of the door.

"It looked human but it was feeding off another man's flesh...I don't remember what I was doing there, Alana, I'm not even sure what day it was but I know what I saw..." Will swallowed dryly. "The monster was real."

Alana was gazing at him. And he had to shift his eyes. Will felt compelled to kiss her again. Alana had always been very kissable. 

"...I believe you saw something Will. But you were very young. And when we are young and we don't understand something..." 

She paused, smiling knowingly. 

"...We often shield ourselves with bed time stories."

Will tried to look Alana in the eye. But not even that he could do.

He blinked once. 

She was gone.

* * *

A copper dish flew across the large room, colliding with a wall and falling to the floor, its contents and food spreading across the marble surface like splattered blood. Will Graham furrowed his brow slightly, eyeing the octopus' tentacles and a couple of potatoes that managed to quietly roll over to his feet. He had grown used to Lord Chilton's outbursts. Although their timing remained unpredictable, everyone eventually learned to endure them like parents endured a restless toddler. Every word needed to be spoken with care though, for this toddler owned armies and followers that could dismember you merely for the cranky creature's amusement.

"...Did you not enjoy your meal, My Lord?"

Abel Gideon finally asked after a few seconds of unsettling silence.

Will Graham had a lot of opinions he'd like to share about Sir Abel Gideon. But he rarely had the opportunity to discuss his thoughts with others. The round man was Chilton's right hand. A man whose whispers could easily get you behind bars. A mischievous little pet which enjoyed taking advantage of his Lord's ignorance to slip his venomous sense of humor into casual conversations. To some extent Will enjoyed that about Gideon; his sarcasm and nerve. He'd never consider the man a friend though and he was sure Sir Gideon was of the same opinion. They both despised Lord Chilton, but showed their emotions very differently. Will snarled and prayed for the day the man would fall ill and die while Sir Gideon fattened and cooed his Lord, like a prized pig that would one day be served at his dinner table.

"It's disgusting."

"Why but you have barely touched your plate My--"

"You."

Chilton pointed one ring covered finger towards Will who stood near the large door along with a couple of other servants. He widened his eyes in slight surprise, shifting them between the crowned toddler and its devious nanny who simply arched an eyebrow at him. Will didn't enjoy feeling so many eyes on him. He felt himself shrinking between the other two servants who quietly stepped away from him in fear of getting caught in Chilton's line of sight.

"Yes, M'Lord?"

"What have I said before about how I like my meals?"

Will swallowed dryly giving Abel Gideon an uncertain glance. The blond gave a small facial shrug. 

"Uhm...Not from the sea, M'Lord?"

Chilton gave Will a sudden dazzling smile, giving a long nod.

"Not from the sea, exactly."

His smile vanished as soon as he turned his head to stare back at Sir Gideon who nearly winced at the hostile atmosphere growing around him.

"If a delivery boy can memorize information better than the King's right hand then perhaps I ought to give him your position, Sir Gideon."

At the thought of losing his power and title, Sir Gideon blinked rapidly and looked positively shaken up. Will even wondered if the man might start crying. He watched the whole scene quietly, alarmed and wondering if he'd too become a target for Abel Gideon to take down. It was well known that Abel had a very particular thirst for vengeance. He had once challenged a merchant for a duel for calling him "The King's Bearded Whore". His sword sunk so deep into the man's chest that his heart fell out through his back. Of course this was more of a local myth, but its source was very much real. The merchant did die with a sword to his chest. And Gideon walked free. All Will had ever wanted was peace and quiet. He was not a man of riches or extravagances. He had no feud with Abel Gideon or his lands or his title or his gold. The only extravagances he could indulge himself to were Alana's occasional company and the sea waves.

"Boy."

Will's thoughts of raven haired girls dancing behind curtains of sea foam were interrupted by Chilton's call.

"Go tell whoever prepared this meal that they no longer have any business in my palace. As for you Sir Gideon, if you wish to avoid suffering the same fate, I advise you to find a substitute to my cook by the end of the day."

Both Gideon and Graham switched glances before bowing their heads and mumbling unsynchronized "Yes My Lord"s.

Will could feel Abel Gideon's glare stabbing at his back as he slipped out the door. Part of Will wished he'd fail. The man was a snake slithering through halls and hissing others into fearful submission due to a power that was not his to have. But the other part knew that Abel Gideon loved nothing more than power. And only when one loses what they love do we see what they're truly capable of. Will could only imagine what a man who gutted and stabbed dozens of men every month would do if he had nothing to lose.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Will communicated Chilton's message to the cook, gritting his teeth into helpless smiles as the large fat man protested and tried to defend his food. It wouldn't matter. If he were not to leave like he was ordered, Lord Chilton would probably have him hanged. Once explained this, the cook became much quieter and, eventually, left the palace through its main entrance and by his own foot. Will often felt bad for carrying out Frederick Chilton's orders. The overwhelming empathy he felt for the victims of his Lord's decisions did not help either. Ever since he was a child Will Graham had a hard time not getting in other people's shoes. While in the forest he'd feel the hunger of the wolf packs or the panic of their preys. His father's mood was absorbed so rapidly sometimes Will forgot they were two different people instead of just one. Perhaps that was why he enjoyed the sea so much. When sitting before it, Will felt no hunger, no fear, no anger or confusion...

Just a steadying numbing calmness of the vast ocean.

He cleaned, wrote a few documents which Chilton dictated, switched uncompromising glances with Alana while scrubbing the floor of the throne room...

By sunset, Sir Gideon had still not returned. And Will began to get used to the idea of not having the man around. But then who would ease Chilton when he got blinded by anger or boredom. Would Will be in charge of that task? His stomach suddenly seemed to turn and ache and the servant dramatically thought he might just hurl on the floor he was scrubbing. He didn't want that responsibility nor the task of following his Lord everywhere...

It felt as if the gods heard his pleads when the doors of the throne room swung open, short round but still confident Sir Gideon walked in, gallant and smirking. He had definitively found a solution to his problem. Will fought the urge to smile. He had never been happier to see Abel Gideon. The man purposely kicked the water bucket Will had been using, spilling the dirty water all over the floor. Will hated Gideon again. Everything was back to normal.

"My Lady, where is your husband? I have great news for him."

Alana sat tall on her throne with her chin held up high and blue eyes heavily-lidded. 

"Lord Chilton rests in his chambers, Sir Gideon. He was quite tired after dealing with some personal affairs, I'm sure he'll be ready soon."

Will glanced at Alana then. He tried to find marks on her but Chilton knew better than to hit his fair wife on the face. She was another piece of jewelry for him to wear, it would make no sense to crack it. But the mere servant could see, hidden somewhere behind her lips, a grit of teeth that kept Alana's true emotions from surfacing. Gideon could see it too. Will knew this because Alana told him about the patches and medical care the little devil had offered her. Abel Gideon was a man of vast knowledge on human anatomy and science...But Will feared leaving the apple of his eye alone in the same room as that man. He suspected Gideon too searched for Alana's personal affection.

"Ah. I see. Well, I shall introduce him to you first then, My Lady." 

Abel turned towards the door, inviting a tall dark figure that hadn't been there before to enter the room. 

Blue eyes widened when seeing the silhouette. Will's attention had been caught on a hook. And it moved towards him in a slow polite pace. 

"Please welcome our new cook, My Lady..." 

The man stopped right beside Will where the bucket had once been. And the knelt down servant couldn't help but let his eyes travel from the man's strange pointy shoes, to his legs, to his torso until they finally met his sharp edged face. Something made a shiver run down his spine, freezing muscles and sending slight trembles down his arms. Will Graham wasn't sure what had caused that sudden chill, 

"Sir Hannibal Lecter." 

but he'd constantly think about that moment for the rest of his days. 


	3. The Corpse Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His hair it hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as coal,  
> My happiness attend him wherever he may go,  
> From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I'll wander, weep and moan,  
> All for my jolly sailor until he sails back home

Will Graham had not been impressed by this new cook.

Hannibal Lecter was, like many others before him, uninteresting, simple, and, worst of all, an ass-kisser. 

Will had witnessed that afternoon to the man's little introductory spectacle. 

He watched as the foreigner nonchalantly stepped over the puddle of water Sir Gideon had so rudely created. Watched him being patted on the back by the short round man as if they had been friends their whole lives. When he took Alana's hand and kissed it Will felt the muscles of his neck tightening. He usually wasn't a jealous person, at least he didn't think he was, but he had so little to call his own...Alana wasn't his. Nothing in that palace was his. He had been all alone and empty-handed for so many years and the possibilities of that ever changing were very thin.

Lecter had only been inside that palace for a few moments and already he had won himself a few hearts. Alana smiled. A true honest smile that Will thought only he could pull out of her. And when Chilton finally returned from his royal nap, all it took were a few words and a courteous bow for him too to offer a toothed grin. Will only heard small echoes of their conversation. It wasn't a large room, but William was miles away already. 

He focused on the water he tried to scrub away instead. Tired blue eyes watched his reflection spreading and gathering up in several small puddles of dirty water. Fragments of himself mumbling and sulking scattered all over the floor. Will thought he caught one of his reflections blinking. But when he glanced at the small puddle on his further left, Will noticed something odd. This mirror was held upside down. And his large blue eyes were heavily-lidded, pitch-black, hidden by the shadows of a salient brow. 

Will didn't recognize himself. His reflection blinked once more from the darkness, watching him with interest. He felt compelled to reach out and touch it, just to be sure that wasn't a hole from which some strange creature peeked from.

Gideon cleared his throat.

Two blue orbs blinked rapidly, suddenly realizing just how dry they were from staying open too long. He lifted his head, ready to apologize to Sir Gideon for his slow response. But when William looked up he realized Gideon was a couple of meters away from him. The shadow before him belonged to the cook. He stared down at him with a blank expression and Will couldn't help but notice his sharp features. The man was clearly a foreigner. Will could tell by his clothes and smell. Salty...Probably from across the ocean. In Chilton's court most wore light colors. Whites, blues, foam-green...They wore these colors to avoid the heath brought by the seaside's sun. Like the castle, they all reflected the sunlight and remained fresh. But this cook wore thick layers underneath a long cloak. Will thought it to be black at first. But he noticed something glistening somewhere. Emeralds and turquoises hid on the inside of the cape... 

Beautiful.

"...I said get up, Graham."

Will got up to his feet as quickly as he could and Gideon arched an eyebrow at him. He felt his stomach clenching with slight embarrassment and he searched for Alana's eyes, hoping to find some comfort in them. She was speaking with Chilton. She didn't look back. Will felt his throat drying out.

"Sir Lecter will be staying with us for an indefinite time, Graham. Please lead him to his chambers."

"...The...Cook's chambers, sir?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. Hannibal Lecter seemed like a man of wealth and used to certain luxuries, the room where their previous cook slept was small and shared by a couple of other kitchen workers, very similar to Will's. Which made him wonder how could a man of such elegant features and polite ways work in the kitchens? This Lecter should be living in a castle in some distant island where he is pampered and loved every day. He pictured a hundred people kneeling down before him, kissing his gem covered knuckles...Never the cheeks though. The cheeks looked sharp enough to cut through you...

Gideon widened his eyes at him warningly, as if trying to communicate telepathically. Will frowned and glanced at Hannibal as if searching for an answer in his face although he already expected that blank serene expression of his to offer no helpful reply. 

Instead he stared back.

And Will's eyes had to shift uncomfortably across the room before landing on Gideon again, still glaring at him.

"No. _Not_ the cook's chambers." The shorter man said, his eyes nearly rolling back into his skull. "He is a _guest_ therefore he shall be treated as a _guest_ by staying in one of the _guest's_ chambers. Yes?"

"Yes, sir." Will mumbled. 

The mental picture of Sir Gideon being impaled by Neptune's trident and the image of sharp blades cutting through his anus, organs and peeking out of his frog-like mouth in order to create a cascade of blood washing through his chest and round stomach was as vivid to Will as it was pleasant. He turned his face to meet their guest's and felt his brow arching with surprise.

Hannibal Lecter was staring at him with a very small smirk.

Will was unsure how long that smile had been there. And he wasn't sure he liked it. 

"...This way, Sir."

And without an audible response, Will Graham turned around and listened to Hannibal's footsteps echoing his own while exiting the room. 

* * *

It was a long walk from the throne room to the chambers floor. Steps had to be climbed, halls to be crossed, and the whole time Will didn't hear a single sound escape through the foreigner's lips. He spoke English, he was sure of that. Lord Chilton was a blabbering idiot with no capacity of learning anything that didn't make him richer or handsomer.

Will fought the urge to peek over his shoulder.

Where had Gideon found him anyway? Were there really just a few cooks waltzing around the marketplace, waiting for someone to pick them up? He didn't look like a commoner. Too clean, too polite and too handsome to spend his days cutting fish heads and swallowing barrels of beer. Will fluttered his lashes while walking through the hall that led to the sleeping area. He was thinking too much. Chances were Lord Chilton would get sick of the foreigner's accent after a few months and send him back to the streets. Will was sure the same would have happened to him if it weren't for his willingness to do anything he was told to and Alana's subtle persuasion. Lecter had pride and poise. Lecter surely wasn't afraid to show how much smarter he was than Chilton.

No. Lecter wouldn't last long. 

He didn't seem that interesting.

Will finally reached the door that led to the room where Lord Lecter would be staying. But when his fingers wrapped around the door handle to push it open he noticed their guest had stopped following him a few meters ago to examine a painting hanging on the wall.

Blue eyes shifted uncertainly. Will would eventually shut the door and walk up to the foreigner.

Lecter wasn't as tall as he thought. Actually, his face seemed rather soft now. He recalled finding the man's figure intimidating and wishing he could shield his face from any examination those sharp dark eyes could offer. But now, upon a closer inspection, there was something warm and familiar about him. Hannibal Lecter was only human after all. The flesh cutting cheekbones had turned as round as soft as any child's and his eyes, although still caved into his skull, shined with something human and living. Will was no longer sure why he had felt so shaken by his presence earlier.

He glanced at the painting being examined. There stood Lord Chilton, long beard and a steady gaze while ocean waves broke against sharp rocks in the distance. Will arched an eyebrow. The picture had favored Frederick Chilton in many ways. He looked younger, thinner, handsomer, not to mention wise and brave, something any illiterate knew to be a lie. But the background of the picture made Will's eyes squint slightly. The sharp gathering of tall dark rocks...The wild ocean green waves that cracked and stirred ships against them...

Will thought he saw the silhouette of a young boy running towards them.

Both eyes blinked furiously, trying to push away any further memories from that day. The day everyone in court crowned him as an idiot. Worse, a mad servant. A foolish lying boy who attributed all his injuries to fairy tales. Will quickly pulled his gaze away, incapable to stare nostalgia in the face any longer.

Hannibal remained still, back straight and chin held up high. Will licked his lips before clearing his throat, hoping this would discreetly awake the older man from any dreamlike state he might have gotten lost in. Will wouldn't judge. It happened to him often. Too often ever since his head had been cracked open...

"You do not like him."

Will's eyes widened. The sentence brushed past him so elegantly and quickly he failed to decode the strange accent that laced it.

"...Pardon, Sir?"

"You do not like Lord Chilton." Hannibal Lecter repeated politely, his lips curling into a very small smile. His accent sounded distant, from across the sea. His voice raspier and lower than Will had expected. For some reason he had thought a man of such stature to speak loudly, to curl his "r's" and high-pitch his tone when referring to others. But none of that proved to be true. Sir Lecter's voice was warm and slow; listening to it, Will thought, was like entering into a warm bath. But the words burned against his cheeks, making the servant feel slightly alarmed.

"I live to serve him, Sir."

Hannibal turned his head to face Will then.

The sharp features got to him again. Icy fingers seemed to grab on to his spine and Will tried very hard not to release a shaky exhale.

"As do we all."

The man's eyes lingered for a few seconds before pulling away from Will's. He walked past him and his odd cape brushed against the knuckles of Will's hands. It felt cold and slippery, like fish scales. The younger man swirled his head to stare at the other man, unsure how to react or if he should do so at all. 

Hannibal Lecter had already opened the door to his room by himself. Will watched him examine the chambers with a patient gaze before entering his new home.

The door didn't shut. And Will swallowed dryly. Hannibal's eyes disturbed him. They saw too much whether warm or cold. They were able to scratch through flesh and bone and look deep into your soul. See all the dirt and worthlessness you hid. And Will Graham felt terribly dirty. What had that small exchange of words meant? Was his hatred for Frederick Chilton really that visible? Visible enough for it to be mentioned to his Lord? Panic suddenly gripped Will's heart. If Hannibal were ever to be alone with Lord Chilton his foreign tongue might allow velvety truths to unfold before his master...And if Chilton were ever to know what Will and his young bride did behind closed doors... 

William gave a few steps closer to the door, peeking inside to find Hannibal Lecter staring out his window.

"Are you fond of Lord Chilton, Sir?"

Graham didn't know why he had asked that. His voice shook pathetically at the beginning, surprised by its own existence. He had thought of asking that, hoping to find an ally rather than a threat but to actually direct a word to someone above him without permission...That was simply unthinkable, punishable...Rude.

The sun shone from behind Hannibal Lecter, reducing his figure to a mere silhouette. His eyes felt more piercing when Will couldn't see them. 

"I have just met him. It would be impolite to make any assumptions at such an early stage of any relationship."

Will watched the figure. Hannibal Lecter's words hurt him like the sharp edges of judgmental accusations. Had Will spoke out loud any of his thoughts? Alana had told him he mumbled a lot when upset. Too cowardly to speak up but too outraged to stay quiet...Could it be Hannibal Lecter had heard him say he didn't find him interesting? That he thought him to be a superficial butt-licking show-offering cunt? Was he actually speaking about him?

His eyes lowered as he prepared to leave the other man alone.

"But in my humble opinion," Will froze. "He did strike me as being rather obnoxious."

There was a moment of silence. And although Sir Lecter had been reduced to a shadow, Will could feel a smile. 

Suddenly he didn't feel threatened. Suddenly, he felt relieved. A rush of warmth washed over him. Will found himself mirroring a smile he couldn't see. It was a terrible thing to be united by mutual hatred but it kept people together unlike anything else. Despite their differences, which were loud and clear, from their size to their origins, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham had nothing in common, the short moment of honesty between the two created a bond. It was still thin. But it brought William a strange happiness. To be understood was a rare experience inside that palace. But to be understood by someone of higher birth...Will kept a small chuckle from escaping through his lips.

A round little woman walked past him, frowning when seeing the servant standing by the door just smiling at their guest. Her eyes were like lighthouses, warning him that his behavior could guide him to rocky shores. And as soon as their eyes met, Will's smile was gone. He didn't dare glancing at Lecter again, afraid the unusual happiness and informal aura might return. He bowed, he shut the door and he sighed.

He was still profoundly unimpressed by Lecter. But it was good to know that men from across the seas, used to different costumes, people and ceremonies, felt as disgusted by Chilton as Will did.

* * *

He is standing in the middle of the ocean, miles of dark waters cover the landscape and there are no stars or clouds in the skies. Will tries to find the horizon, but heaven and sea merge into one at the distance. Will is all alone.

The man's blue eyes glance at himself. Naked, pale and filthy, with marks on his hands and chest that only Alana knew. Will glances at his feet. He stands on the water. He lifts his left foot slightly, and the drops that fall from in between his toes cause small waves to spread across the blanket of water surrounding him.

Will suddenly feels overwhelmed.

Suddenly there is a sound besides his own breathing.

A freezing fear latches to the servant's cortex. It shakes his skull. The fear of a twelve year old boy alone in a sea of corpses and blood. He dares to turn, his eyes shifting across the empty landscape, terrified that anyone might have seen the way the sea shook due to his feet; afraid of the tempests his decision could cause. 

The ocean trembles.

His skies begin to turn darker.

And from underneath his feet, his reflection blinks. Will Graham's heart hammers inside his chest as he watches a small dark sphere rise to the surface of the ocean, it surfaces, and the sphere brings a torso and limbs attached to it. A head.

The head of the small monster which had introduced Will Graham to lunacy for the first time.

There were no tails or scales. Just a pale blue body of a child. Will thinks it looks a lot like a corpse. And the corpse child continues to rise from the deep until it stands upon the ocean like Will does.

The fear that grips Will's heart becomes a norm; it feels natural to him now, as if his heart had always beaten so loudly inside his ears.

And the corpse boy's dark bangs cover its eyes and there is a pitch black liquid dripping from its thick lips. Will remembers the rows of sharp teeth that hide beneath them. He doesn't want to look, but ignoring the nostalgic figure seems impossible.

They stand silently for what feels a whole year. 

Large dark eyes stare up unblinkingly at Will from underneath soaked, greasy hair.

Stare into the abyss,

and the abyss stares back at you.

The child tilts its head slightly, locks of petrol-like hair uncovering cheeks as sharp as blades.

Its hands reach up press its small thumbs against Will's lips. The child's purple fingers taste salty and feel as cold and harsh has the boat wrecking rocks where they met.

It slips its fingers into Will's mouth and he can't help but watch as the small corpse child pushes against his teeth and gum.

The skin detaches from his flesh, like a soaked veil and is pushed back and off his cranium, uncovering whatever hides underneath it.

Will shuts his eyes as he hears thunder echoing far far away. He feels a cold breeze that wasn't there before as he feels his skin being pushed off of him.

He hears his skin falling around his feet. It sinks into the dark waters.

Will Graham is all muscles and veins. And he is pitch black like the corpse child's hair.

His eyes open once more.

The child has grown.

The child is no longer a child.

It is a full grown man. 

A man with a salient brow and caved in eyes...

Will Graham opens his eyes for real this time. He is breathing heavily, his small bed soaked with his own sweat. The man has to kick the thin itchy sheets off of him in order to catch his breath. Somewhere in the darkness another servant boy snores and turns, trying to find a more comfortable position to sleep in. Will is awake now. Really awake. And he is so thankful for that. The dream had felt so real, he could still taste the salty nails that had peeled his skin away...

Will was terrified. He hadn't dreamed ever since he was twelve as if his imagination had been asleep for all this time. What had triggered it? Only one thing had changed. Hannibal Lecter's arrival meant something. He brought with him a cold bitter wind which chilled Will's very soul. The servant feared he might tell Lord Chilton about Will's dislike. Although it should be evident to the man, hearing it being described out loud would surely infuriate him. Could Will get hanged for it? He could surely be thrown into the streets. He wouldn't have a bed to sleep in or food to nibble...And he'd never see Alana again.

He would ignore the hardness that pressed against his thigh for now. 

"Mmm, no, no more cheese for me..."

In the dark Will's eyes shifted to glance at the other servant's general direction. He was a round little man with curly hair and a beard that made him only look older than he was. 

He pondered about indulging himself a few seconds of pleasure. But as soon as his hand slipped underneath the covers, his roommate gave an alarmingly loud snore.

No. Will would shut his eyes and pray for the rest of his night to remain dreamless.

The morning would bring a pain that was very much real.


	4. Sea Shells & Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My father is a merchant — the truth I will now tell,  
> And in great London City in opulence doth dwell,  
> His fortune doth exceed 300,000 gold,  
> And he frowns upon his daughter, who loves a sailor bold.

Fire burned and cracked against dry wood.

The kitchen was a busy loud place unlike the rest of the castle which prided itself in its calm and serenity. The walls and floor were not made of marble. Instead the rock was darker there. Harder and raspier; the kitchen was the dark cancerous lung of the impeccable pale castle. Large men with red faces dragged barrels as heavy as them and cut through fish heads the size of a small child. A crowded room in which every single member had a task. People shouted, knives collided with wood, water boiled, metal clinked, seagulls flew across the large circular window which occupied one of the kitchen's walls, hoping to find a free meal...

And in the midst of the pandemonium of noise and smells a tall figure moved to a whole different tune.

Graceful hands stroke white flour over bright red flesh, covering every inch of crimson with the dedication and elegance of a pianist. The tip of skillful fingers dragged across the edges of the piece of meat, the brushing of flesh with flesh loud and clear in the cook's head. The whiteness disguised the violent bloodied nature of the dish soon to be served. Like the palace, the pureness delivered by the pale stone meant nothing but a need to hide a decrepit and filthy structure.

Another large piece of bright red flesh was spread out against the counter.

More wood was added to the fire.

Will Graham wasn't used to having any tasks in the kitchen. He thought Lord Chilton was well aware of his growing dislike towards him and thus feared having some sort of poison spilled into his meal by the servant. But today a big feast was to be held. There wasn't any particular reason for this to happen. Gideon had announced something about an abnormality in the moon cycle which would result in an unexpected change in sea winds that would bring prosperity to the kingdom...But Will thought Chilton merely wanted an excuse to test the new _acquisitions_ that had been recently brought into his kitchen. His hands threw another large log into the boiler which roared and spat out bright yellow flames. The servant hurried to shut the metallic door, breathing heavily when sensing the stench of bonfire on him.

His face burned. He could feel a thin layer of ash sticking to his cheeks. 

While getting up and passing a frustrated hand over his blackened face, Will couldn't help but glancing around him, wondering if anyone was laughing at his current appearance. Nobody seemed to notice him. Specially not the owner of the graceful, harmonious hands. 

Will stared at Hannibal Lecter's back. He stood several meters away from him, enough space for dozens of men and women to rush past. A stream of working bodies separated them. A whole ocean. The cook's back was large and triangular. Will didn't think he had ever seen him without the long cloak hiding his figure. He could see tanned muscles moving underneath thin papery cotton clothes...Rising and falling as he cut through nerves and veins of fresh meat...Like tidal waves under crimson foam.

Someone bumped into him and woke Will from the hypnotizing movement.

He quickly cleared his throat and left the kitchen, bumping into a few more men who spat small threats at him.

Hannibal Lecter pushed a few more pieces of flesh into the pan. Fire licked against metallic material...But rather than watching over it, the cook's eyes glanced towards the shutting door.

* * *

Will didn't enjoy taking part in Chilton's little dinner events. Every servant of the palace was forced to stand by and watch while Lord Frederick Chilton along with the rest of his over-fed court devoured every piece of food on the long table. It was an agonizing display. Some of the men and women who helped maintain Chilton's palace spent days without eating. Their stomachs shrunk and their energy wavered like a candle in the wind. Frederick Chilton knew this. He simply chose not to see the pain he inflicted upon those who served him. He wasn't an evil man. But his pride and vanity crippled several innocent lives.

As he walked over to stand near the other servants, Will Graham found himself pondering what Hannibal Lecter would think of this. He didn't seem undernourished. Not from what Will had seen. Despite his age, Sir Lecter carried muscles tightened around his bones. They looked firm. They probably were. The way the fabric brushed past them confirmed it. He came from a prosperous family, no doubt. Will tried to remember what Hannibal smelled like, trying to decode some particular smell that could identify his origins. Salt. Sand. Fire.

He had also seen something else underneath the whiteness of the man's cloths. Something unnatural. But he couldn't quite picture it inside his head.

A team from the kitchen walks into the big dining hall.

There are actual gasps when the plates and trays are placed upon the table and shown to the court.

Will Graham himself, who when younger had killed and skinned animals for his meals, widened his eyes in shock.

Never such a rich shade of red had entered that palace. Not even under the form of rubies or Asian silks. It seemed as if all these things were mere copies of the bright color provided by the flesh on display. There were sea shells and small bones filling up the empty spaces of each tray. Dark patterned shells. The kind Will used to press his ear against when he was a child watching boats pass by. The smell was thick and rich unlike the fresh saltiness of the seaside. Everyone salivated and leaned towards the food.

Will felt a gut-turning sense of nostalgia.

"Well?" Chilton finally spoke, staring at the people sitting beside him. "What are you waiting for? Dig in!"

A crowd of nearly a hundred was suddenly scratching metallic plates with sharp knives and pointy forks. Some reached out with their hands. Will caught Abel Gideon aggressively nudging another equally rounded man aside in order to claim a piece of flesh. The feast was suddenly a loud chaotic mess. There were people pushing and pulling at each other and empty dishes being nudged onto the floor. Pale hands were stained with blood and grease while trying to get to every last piece of that delicious meal.

The servants watched. Their hunger slowly grew silent under the violent display.

Chilton's court looked like a pack of famished animals.

Will glanced towards Alana. She sat smaller and thinner among the rest. And although she frowned and shook her head at some, most of the time she decided to focus on the food. Pale blue eyes were hidden behind dark lashes as she politely cut and chewed her crimson meal. Will swallowed hard when seeing beautiful Alana shutting her eyes when savoring the plate, thin lips suddenly stained with blood.

Something was very wrong. Nobody even seemed to notice the other dishes spread across the table. Some bit and sucked the juice out of the shells before tossing them aside like waste. The beautiful shells of Will's short-lived childhood. He was unsure of how Sir Lecter had found them. They were already hard to find when he was a young boy and now that he was a grown man, whenever he walked over the beach he never seemed to spot these small treasures among the pale sands. He wished he could take one. Just one. Nobody would notice, they were more concerned about the meat...And although Will himself felt gluttony poking at his stomach he wouldn't dare tasting the dish.

Not after seeing the way it stained the court's teeth.

Will's eyes moved from Alana to observe the others. Gideon sunk his teeth into bone and ripped the little pieces of red left. A long necked woman had smeared her once pinkish lips with grease and nearly snarled at her sister...And on the far right side of the long table sat the cook, again moving at a completely different rhythm.

He was delicate with his dish. Taking each piece slowly and savoring it like one should. He shut his mouth when chewing along with his eyes. Nobody dared to interrupt him with chattering or questions. Hannibal Lecter was locked in his own world. Will took notice of the set of teeth in his mouth. He had sharp canines and long rows of pointy teeth which reminded him of the rocks near the shore. The rocks where he had gone mad.

Will watched him in silence.

And suddenly he realized Hannibal Lecter was watching him back.

 

_Gaze into the abyss,_

_And the abyss shall gaze into you._

 

Will fluttered his lashes and looked away. The silence which seemed to surround him whenever he focused on Sir Lecter's movements was once again replaced by deafening sounds of hungry mouths.

 

* * *

 

After a few hours the banquet room was empty and the servants were left to take back the empty dishes.

"...You saw Gideon trying to fit a whole sea shell into his mouth?"

Beverly didn't speak much around others. Both the court and the servants knew what she had been bought for. Ships visited the kingdom's shores every few months filled with young women from all over the seven seas. Girls with feathery curls or long narrowed eyes. Beverly had been bought from one of those ships. Will remembered seeing the same fear and undesired compromise in her eyes when she first arrived. They weren't very far apart age wise and often shared the same point of view. This, Will thought, was what having siblings should feel like.

"I thought he'd shatter his teeth trying to bite it down, I swear."

Will chuckled lightly while placing another dish onto the pile.

"Gideon? He'd give one of his legs before letting anyone touch his food."

Beverly arched an eyebrow, smirking. Just because she didn't speak up very often didn't mean she wasn't smart. Beverly was quite intelligent. She knew how to write and read more fluently than many of the nobles. But both her and Will had always kept quiet about this. Chilton didn't like having anyone smarter than him in his peripheral field. Made him feel insecure. All Will knew was due to her occasional lessons. Alas, he wasn't the most dedicated student.

"Well, I don't know about you but I wouldn't mind giving a tooth or two just to get a taste of whatever that was." Beverly said. Will's smile weakened. "You used to hunt when you were a kid. Any idea what animal they were eating?"

"...None that I know of."

There was a moment of silence. Will thought of the sea shells and the blood building up around them and something in his gut growled. The disgust was almost as big as the hunger building up inside him. He had to look away from his friend to reach for a large silver tray which he placed on top of the dozens of dishes. He felt Beverly staring at the back of his head. Will had lived far from the shores and seen all types of creatures getting killed in order to fill his stomach...What the court had eaten today looked like nothing he had ever seen.

"Hey." Graham turned to face her once again. Beverly smiled softly and reached for her skirts. Tangled in them was something large and round.

Will's head suddenly got lighter.

"I was saving it up for later, but..."

A dark sea shell.

Will Graham felt the palms of his hands getting sweaty all of a sudden. The blood drained from his head and down to his stomach in a matter of seconds.

"I found it hidden underneath bones and peels in Lecter's plate."

He looked Beverly in the eye.

"Wanna share?"

* * *

 

Will Graham has to stop on his way to the throne room. 

He presses one hand against the pale marble wall and crouches like an animal, pressing his forehead against the coldness of the palace's skin. Will feels warm. Too warm. As if someone had been feeding asleep flames within him. Something within his stomach ached and contracted and although he had eaten nothing, Will Graham felt as if he was about to hurl everything within his body. Guts and all.

Something about that gruesome display of savagery had disturbed him. Will didn't understand why, he had seen worse things. Nothing as bizarre as that feast but certainly worse. Nature had provided him with enough cruelty and gore for him to endure a few spoiled adults fighting for an inch of flesh dangling from a fat bone. He thought this. 

But something had made his insides move like a squirm of eels trapped inside a net too tight for them. Every inch of Will's anatomy both ached and tingled with the threat of coma-inducing numbness. Beverly's offer had triggered a sudden change of temperature and a hasty retreat.

 

This, Will thought, is my soul's plead. It wants to break loose.

Break loose from my body. From this world.

 

His mouth opens wide and his stomach contracts. But besides little animal-like sounds, nothing else falls off Will's lips.

 

"Will?" 

 

He wanted to reply. But his throat contracted causing the servant to cough violently. Alana Bloom glanced over her shoulders, wide pale eyes making sure nobody would see her crouching down next to Will, pressing a hand against his back while the other softly rested against the man's side. Will felt lighter. An angel was carrying him home.

  
Dying felt wonderful.

 

"Will, what's wrong?"

"Nothing I'm…I'm fine."

 

He felt better. The strength slowly returned to his legs and with the aid of Alana Will managed to get back up on his feet. The woman smelled of lavender and sun kissed skin. No trace of the bloodied flesh she had consumed only a few minutes ago. Will was thankful for that.

 

"Will you're as pale as a ghost! You need to lay dow--" 

 

"Alana, I'm fine. I was just…Impressed by the feast I guess." Will frowned, keeping his arm wrapped around Alana's shoulders as he made sure he had recovered all his equilibrium. "What was wrong with those people? You saw Gideon? He nearly killed a man for a piece of meat…" 

 

"Will, did you taste it?" 

"Taste what?" 

"The flesh."

 

Will shifted his eyes. 

 

"No."

"Then you cannot understand." 

 

The servant slowly wrinkled his nose. 

 

"Alana, you looked like a bunch of wild animals. We don't eat a third of what you do and you nearly killed each other for a piece of meat!"

 

She became quiet. Her marble hands slowly moved away from Will's body and the sea breeze freshness Alana always carried no longer touched him.

 

"You're rude when you're scared, Will. Get some rest. You need it."

 

The sea breeze was gone in a matter of seconds.

And Will felt heavy once more.

 

He tried to follow her through the marbled corridors of the castle, but when he got to the stairs, Will realized Alana was no longer alone.

Hannibal Lecter stood tall in front of Alana Bloom. Will froze and simply watched from a considerable distance. He couldn't hear them. But he saw the softness in the foreigner's expression. The way his strange mouth curled and how Alana mimicked him. An arm was offered. And a thin pale arm wrapped around Sir Lecter's. Will Graham swallowed dryly as he watched both walk down the stairs, out of sight and out of reach.  
  
Will slowly pressed his forehead against the marbled wall again and wished he could sleep the rest of the day away.

* * *

 

"...My husband and I wished to thank you for today's feast. I believe it's safe to say none of us ever tasted anything quite like it. What was it? What we ate?"  
  
"I'm afraid I mustn't reveal my culinary secrets just yet, My Lady." Hannibal Lecter said. "Without them I am as disposable as your last cook."

Alana smiled before looking down at the floor they walked upon. The sea breeze made her raven hair brush against her neck. She wasn't allowed to walk alone through the beach. Rarely had she stepped down onto the sand. Instead her freedom was limited to large marble balconies hovering over the shore. The height of the palace was astounding. Alana had many times as a young girl spat out of that same balcony at night, waiting to hear the impact of her saliva against the dark waters underneath. She never did hear it.

"Oh, heavens no. I believe my husband is deeply impressed by both you and your skills."

"Are you?"

Her eyebrow arched as she pursed her lips, trying not to smile too widely at the older man who always smiled so warmly at her. Alana sighed, finally deciding to gift the cook with eye-contact. 

"We _all_ are, Sir Lecter." The man says nothing, simply giving a long thankful nod which would translate into a bow weren't Alana's arm so firmly hooked around his own. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Sir Lecter, I hope you are not offended by my question, but how did Sir Gideon find you?" She looked up at him then, both stares finally locking. Hannibal Lecter stopped walking then. Both stood near the balcony's curb. Sea waves brushed against sharp rocks several feet below. "You were not born here...And you certainly weren't born a cook..." There's a small sheepish smile dancing along her lips. One which is repaid with a polite and soft curl of lips. Their arms untangled then.

"Sir Gideon met me the very moment I stepped into your kingdom's port, My Lady. My clothes were still soaked from many months of high sea and my skin still burned from the warm sun." Hannibal pauses. "I could not tell you the name of my land. My language does not produce the same sounds as yours. I fear it would sound foul or barbaric to such delicate ears. And the reason why you see me stripped from all titles and riches I fear to be far too monstrous for you to bear the sight of me." Sir Lecter is staring at the horizon. But Alana had her gaze fixed on him. On the lines across his face. "I would like us to be friends." He added, offering the blue-blood a glance.

Alana furrowed her brow.   
  
"Friendship is based on trust, Sir Lecter. If you do not trust me to be strong enough to bare the truth how do you expect me to do the same for you?"

There's a moment of silence between the two.

Dark heavily-hooded eyes shift across Alana's face. And as Hannibal Lecter turns to fully face her, there's a shiver which climbs Alana's spine. She's unsure whether this is fear or something else. 

"Would you be ready to trust me with a secret then, My Lady?"

"...I don't have many people I can trust, Sir Lecter. I am terrified of making a mistake."

Another moment of silence. The air became tense. It was difficult to breathe. Suddenly Alana thought her lungs were sponges, heavy with all the humidity carried by the sea winds. She thinks she catches a glimpse of something behind Hannibal Lecter's stare. It looks as if he's...Hurt. Saddened by whatever thoughts occupied his mind. Was Alana responsible for this sudden sadness? She fluttered her lashes, exhaling through her nostrils when finally reaching a brave decision.

"I am in love with a servant boy. I have been in love with him during most of my life..."

It felt strange to say it out loud and with that Alana chuckles lightly, pressing a hand against her cheek. Despite the freshness provided by the sea she was warm. Flushed probably. But she was sure that what she said was true. When she looked back at Hannibal Lecter a grin had spread across his face. There was something almost paternal about it. As if he had known it all along. Alana sighs a shaky sigh and stands up straight once more.

"I have never told this to anyone, Sir Lecter. By telling you this I am trusting you with my own life." Alana smiled sweetly. "What have you done that makes it so hard for you to trust me with yours?"

The foreigner tilted his head, eyes watching her thoughtfully, Alana imagined he'd be considering what words to speak next. How to wrap them in the sweet warmness every sentence he spoke usually required. But what Sir Lecter said next came out bluntly and sharply. Like a knife slashing through Alana's throat.

" _I killed a man_."

* * *

 

  _He cannot feel his body._

_It is floating on the still waters shadowed by the tall rocks of his childhood._

_Will can smell salt and blood. Water fills his ears._

_When he tries to inhale he takes in shaky breaths._

_How long as he been there?_

_Hours?_

_Days?_

_He feels something brushing against his legs. It travels along his back and Will rolls his eyes back into his skull._

_Will wants to scream. The back of his head is cracked open and his sanity is spilling into the ocean._

_Someone hushes him._

_Long fingers brush against his parted lips to keep him quiet._

_Will doesn't open his eyes but he knows what comforts him._

_The hand that touched him was cold like a corpse's._

_And the mouth which ensnares his is not soft._

_It kisses him deeply._

_And Will Graham is swallowed into this ghostly mouth._

_Bones and all._

* * *

 

"--YING! What the hell are you doing?! Don't touch!"

Will wakes up to find no sunlight coming through his window.

How long had he been asleep?

How long had the other servants been screaming?

The man sits up blinking his eyes rapidly and narrowing them, trying to understand what was going on amongst the panicking women and shouting men. Will remembered seeing something like this only when the women from the small village he lived in gave birth. All the village gathered up outside the small house. Everyone tried to fit into the cubic structure. Shepherds, chickens, doctors and children, all together to see the miracle of birth, to shout encouragements or to shriek with horror. Will didn't understand why the people didn't look away until a woman fainted or a child started crying. His father said it was good for him to see such things. To see where all men came from; blood and pain. It did not matter what he would become, kings and fishermen alike all came into the world screaming.

Screaming like the one of the fat little man who constantly smelled like cheese. He had backed himself into a corner, shouting incoherent warnings without ever shutting his eyes or looking away from the center of the circle. His hands shook.

Will understood a few words. 

Dead.

Blood.

Don't touch it.

He frowned and after a few moments of meditation Will got up from his improvised bed, pushing through the people, trying to get to the small empty center that seemed to have been formed in the middle of that strange reunion. He felt breathless. Everyone was sweating or dying. He had seen more than a couple of these people vomiting into hidden corners of their rooms or hiding blood stains created by excessive coughing. All these people were dying and Will felt suffocated by the stench of death. It pulled him down. He needed Alana and her soft white cotton clothes. He wished he could wrap himself in her. Live in Alana for a thousand years.

When he finally got to the middle of the circle, after much pushing and cursing, his eyes searched for the source of all the commotion.

He saw a pile of dark clothes on the middle of the floor along with black sea weeds, spreading out to touch the servants' feet. Will himself did not enjoy the texture of the sea plants but saw no need to cause such big commotion about it. Why did people not back away when faced with horror? Why didn't they move on? Why did they enjoy this torture?

Will suddenly realized.

There was a corpse in the middle of the circle.

A corpse which left a trail of blood from its mouth to some corner of the room now hidden by frightened servants.

Will Graham felt his eyes burn with tears.

"Get out of the way, Graham! Don't touch the whore's blood!" A skinny man shouted, pressing the palm of his hand against the other's chest, trying to keep him away from the center where the now greenish skinned body laid with both eyes open. "You'll get us all dead!"

Will felt his jaw clenching.

Before he knew it the bones of his hand collided with one of the other man's face. He heard something shattering.

Maybe it was him.

Maybe not.

But he didn't care.

Beverly was dead.

And someone would suffer for her loss.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am deeply sorry for taking so long updating this.  
> I've been feeling very insecure about my writing and it got to the point where I didn't have fun writing anything anymore.  
> But expect a whole lot more of chapters to be published during the next few months. I've finished my studies and am  
> taking some time to just enjoy life and do what I like without any pressures. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me  
> know what you think. <3


	5. The Scarlet Creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fig for his riches, his merchandise, and gold,  
> True love has grafted my heart; give me my sailor bold:  
> Should he return in pov'rty, from o'er the ocean far,  
> To my tender bosom, I'll press my jolly tar.

It was an unfairly quiet morning when they carried Beverly's body out of the palace.

Will watched from the kitchen's window as a corpse wrapped in a large white cloth was tossed into a carriage along with dozens of other bodies. The rich had the right to a funeral. Everyone would gather on the beach. A boat filled with flowers and shiny stones would be pushed towards the horizon. Songs would be sung as it sailed out of reach. And then someone would shoot an arrow and the person's soul would be purified and carried through smoke to the heavens.  
  
The poor had the right to purification too. But they'd all burn in the same pile.  
The thieves, the rapists, the liars and the wicked...They'd all burn in the same bonfire as Beverly. 

"In some countries, death is seen as a reason for celebration rather than mourning." Will's darkened eyes were glued to the window. The quiet morning mist swallowed the carriage which carried his friend's body. The servant was left alone with nothing but blinding whiteness and Sir Lecter's voice. "Banquets are held. Music is played. People celebrate the life that was lived rather than the possibilities lost." The man's voice was soft and careful. And some part of Will appreciated this. But he didn't want comfort. Nobody else but him would cry for Beverly. If he didn't cry for Beverly, she'd become nothing but a memory.

"Will Lord Chilton hold a banquet in _her_ honor?" He slowly turned his head to glance at Hannibal Lecter. He stood tall and elegant. A healthy man with silver hair contrasting against tanned skin, dressed in fine silks of emerald and gold while Will, who had nearly half of Hannibal's age, simply looked undernourished and sick with dark circles building deeper and deeper underneath his eyes while the hand which had collided with another servant's skull wore a row of large open bruises along its knuckles. It had gained a purple shade. Will couldn't quite open his hand. "Will _you_?"

"If you were to ask me, I would."

 _"Spare me."_ Will hissed, turning to gaze through the window once more.  
  
He didn't want to lash out at Hannibal Lecter. In any other occasion he would be begging for mercy at the man's feet after such a reckless exchange of words. Will Graham was not a blue-blood. His feet could have been tied to heavy rocks and his body thrown into the sea for simply looking at anyone of higher birth the wrong way. But he didn't care. Right there and then Will did not care. Beverly had been witty, smart and good. Only Will would remember her as such. To others she had been the foreign whore Chilton had bought. It wasn't fair.

"You're hurt."

Will lifted his hand to examine the wounds over his knuckles a bit more closely.

"I'm fine."

"Bruises such as those tend to infect." Hannibal's eyes lingered on Will's fingers rather than his eyes. "Let me help you."

He wouldn't offer Sir Lecter an answer. Instead he silently followed him to the table where the kitchen servants would normally slash and rip fish open. There were marks all over the table's dark wood. Marks of a hundred blades used to dismember and kill.  
  
Will, having no knowledge whatsoever in the medical field, thought perhaps the man would have to cut a few of his fingers to save him. Perhaps his whole hand. When imagining such gruesome and definitive scenarios, he immediately regretted letting that man sit him down and hold his hand.  
  
But he was profoundly impressed by the gentleness of the foreigner's touch. He cleaned Will's wounds first with a soaked rag. Every time he applied pressure down onto Will's skin, the young man's fingers twitched and they both watched in silence as the rag became stained with a dark red color. Sir Lecter proceeded to grab a bottle of wine. Will arched his brow at that time, suddenly satisfied with the idea of having a drink. But when the alcohol was poured onto the back of his hand, Will gritted his teeth and hissed. The first impulse was to pull his hand away.  
  
Hannibal's grip on his wrist tightened and kept him still. 

Will squinted at the royal cook, but Sir Lecter did not look Will in the eye. He is fully absorbed in taking care of his wounds. A white piece of cloth was slowly wrapped around Will's hand and the servant was pleased to feel the freshness and softness of the fabric against the burning pain on the back of his hand. The gore and blood became less visible as it was hidden away, layer after layer of whiteness. 

 _"...I thought you were a cook._ "

Blue eyes looked for a reaction in Lecter's face, but the man's expression remained as unreadable as before.

"I am."

"The man who previously held your position could not tell his right from his left."

Hannibal sighed then, briefly interrupting his task to look Will in the eye.

"You can speak at least two languages, know how to read, you treat wounds..." The young man shook his head lightly. "And yet you choose to work in an imbecile's kitchen." 

There was a moment of silence after Will finished his disappointed conclusion.

Hannibal's lips curved into a small smile. 

"Did you choose to be a servant to Lord Chilton until your dying day?" Will squinted his eyes. He didn't like it when the questions he asked were answered with more questions. "I am here exactly for the same reason you are, Will."

"To pay off your family's debt?"

Sir Lecter seemed to scoff lightly, a flash of sharp teeth is quickly hidden once again by curvaceous lips.

"Is that why you believe you're here?" The servant parted his lips to speak but was instead caught off guard by the way the other man's hand rested upon his. The small amount of pressure applied over his bandages made Will's teeth grit. Although it seemed to be a sympathetic gesture the threat of pain was latent. Will stared at their hands. When he lifted his gaze to meet Lecter's he was faced with the serene and emotionless mask he had been presented with the first day the foreigner had walked into the palace. He stared deep into Will's eyes. As if he truly was looking for something. Will wondered if he could hear what he was thinking. Lecter's grip tightened. "You are here because you are meant to do great things. Everyone within this palace is here because they were meant to be here from the very start."

"...And what about Beverly?" He asked through gritted teeth. "What great _thing_ was she meant to achieve?"

Something in Hannibal's eyes softened.

"We'll have to wait and see." The man's hands moved to tie the bandages firmly into a small knot. "Sometimes we only realize a person's true worth after they're gone from this world."

Suddenly Will didn't feel like crying anymore. The burning that had built up behind his eyes vanished and he could breathe once more. Hannibal patted the back of his hand in a friendly manner. And the younger man felt as if the smile that was offered to him was honest. Truthful. Despite it being adorned with sharp teeth Will couldn't help but feel comforted at the notion that Beverly's life may have had some greater worth; greater than the one he had witnessed to. The two men sat in silence for a moment. It wasn't an awkward nor tense silence. It felt comforting. Like every words which needed to be said had been spoken.  
  
Someone cleared their throat somewhere behind Will.

"How lucky we would be if we all found our _proper place_ in this world." Gideon arched an eyebrow. "Sir Lecter, if I may, a word in private?"

Graham glanced at Hannibal. His eyes were wide with alarm. He was so comfortable around the other man that he often shared his true thoughts about those who held higher positions than him no matter how violent or negative. He feared that sharing such opinions could put him in danger.

But Hannibal Lecter doesn't look back at Will or offer him any sign of complicity. He instead smiles politely at Gideon as if the two of them are alone in the room.

"Of course."

No other words were spoken. Lord Gideon simply glared impatiently at Will, expecting him to get up and leave. Hannibal didn't even bother acknowledging him.

The servant shifted his eyes before finally complying to everyone's wishes. He got up and left the kitchen.

And just as he shut the door behind him, he thought he caught a pair of dark eyes watching him.

* * *

 

He didn't see or talk to anyone for the rest of that miserable day.

People passed by him as he scrubbed the floors. Occasionally snapped their fingers when in need of more wine or food. All the noblemen and women felt like ghosts to Will. Or perhaps he was the ghost. It certainly felt as if part of him had died with Beverly the night before. It pained him that no one else shared his agony. Even Sir Lecter who had been so patient with him seemed detached from the whole situation. Will Graham was still unsure of what to call him. Was he a friend? Will occasionally glanced at the bandages around his hand.  _He seemed to be everybody's friend._

Later that day when the sun was already setting, Graham went out to the beach carrying a pot filled with some well-dressed man's piss, ready to toss it out onto the seawaters. It was there that he saw a couple of men arguing. They were Chilton's most trusted doctors. Men of knowledge and respect but who Will Graham considered to have the sense of humor of a child. They too didn't seem to sympathize with him an awful lot...Will Graham was aware that his personality was difficult. Even sweet Alana seemed to get tired of him every now and a then. He didn't pay much attention to the two men and instead focused in carrying on his pesky task.

"--You saw it too! Do you expect me to sit on my ass and not tell him?"

"Lord Chilton does not care about these matters, why should we bother?"

"Because this goes beyond a sick servant, Zeller! You know it does..."

"Don't talk to me like that. She was my friend too."

Sir Jimmy Price and Sir Brian Zeller quickly stopped speaking when spotting Will Graham standing a few meters away. The servant couldn't help but squint his eyes. He didn't remember ever seeing the pair actually fighting. Will often thought of them as a pair of very intelligent jesters, always ready to entertain those whose blood was bluer than their own in exchange for clapping and the occasional pat on the back. Everyone described them as a jolly duo. Hence why the grave tone and furrowed brows caught his attention. Who were they talking about?

"You done with your pee-tossing or what?"  
  
Will frowned, giving the now emptied pot a few violent shakes, hoping some of the drops would land on Zeller's feet. The bearded man didn't seem pleased by that act of defiance. He was about to raise his finger and hiss something at Graham when Sir Price stopped him with the best imitation of a smile he could manage.

"You're Will. Will Graham, yes?"

"...Yes." The servant replied without looking at the shorter man. He stood up straight, expecting for any sudden move to send him running back inside the palace where he'd be safe from Brian Zeller's fury.

"Beverly spoke of you. She told us you were her friend." Something in Zeller's expression softened and suddenly Will no longer cared about the latent threat.

"...And she was mine."

"I'm very sorry about what happened, Will." Price paused to give his colleague a look. " _We both are_. Beverly was a remarkable woman."

Will couldn't help but frown. He was deeply confused. How did two scholars like Price and Zeller know Beverly? Why would men of their importance grant a single minute of their time to speak with a servant girl? He held the emptied pot underneath his arm, his head tilting to the side as he examined the duo from head to toe. "With all due respect, my Lords, how would any of you know?" It suddenly hit him. A foreigner in a slave ship, sold as a prostitute. Despite being given jobs which were very similar to Will's her main function pursued her through the form of whispers. He had heard some of those whispers mentioning both of the men's names taking Beverly into locked rooms. Both, at the same time. Will's lips pursed in sudden realization, holding a hand up. "Actually, I think I already know."

"It's not like that, you idiot!" Zeller spat, his hands closed into white angry fists. 

"Beverly was our friend too. Well, more of a colleague..."

"What are you talking about?" Any form of delicacy in Will's speech flew out the window whenever Beverly was mentioned. The wound was still too recent for him to control his emotions. "I've never seen you two scrubbing any floors or emptying pots of piss!"

"Neither did Beverly before she came here." Price replied. Will stared at both of them feeling profoundly lost. Zeller moved to grab his friend's shoulder as if to discourage him from whatever it was that he was trying to tell the servant boy. But Price shrugged it off and continued. "Beverly held a position very similar to ours back in her home country, Will. We believe she traveled here due to some _marital disagreements._ But she could read our books...She could understand the content within them! She even aided us translate some medical transcripts." Another pause and at this time Price did glance at his colleague, seeking for approval. Brian exhaled frustratedly. "But recently Beverly began to focus primarily on folklore, uhm...Childrens' tales. We thought it was just a way to pass the time. I mean, who doesn't enjoy a good bedtime story every now and a then?"

Will could tell the man was uncomfortable talking about the subject. But he was completely enthralled by all this new information. Beverly never spoke about what she did behind closed doors with those two. Graham simply assumed it had something to do with sex. Something she considered humiliating and scarring. As for her reading and writing skills...Will had never questioned them. Prostitutes didn't usually get to learn much besides how to bring pleasure to other people, but that didn't mean they couldn't seek out knowledge.

"Tell him, Jimmy."

"...Tell me what?"

Sir Price swallowed dryly. "She became...Obsessed with a particular book. We don't understand the writing, we don't even know what language it's written in. But she made it seem as if it was important. And now she's dead. We inspected her body, Will, that wasn't a disease. Her body didn't succumb to the plague or poison, it...It was thorn apart. Something ripped through her flesh and bit through her organs! Some were even missing I...We had never seen anything like it...!"

Will's eyes widened with horror. "Something? What, like an animal?"

"We don't know." Zeller replied, his voice much softer now. "But we believe her book might have some answers. She kept it with her. We want you to--"

"We'd be **grateful**  if you could find it, Will." Price corrected. "All the servants sleep in the same accommodations. But we've never actually been there..."

"And we don't want to get any unwanted attention. If Lord Chilton were to know we've been getting advice from a servant girl..."

"You could both lose your heads." Will concluded. Zeller and Price sighed and nodded. Graham parted his lips as if overwhelmed by all of this. To find what had killed Beverly and the possibility of avenging her made the man's heart hammer against his ribs once more. Why hadn't Beverly ever told him any of these things? Was she afraid of him? Did she not trust Will? There were many questions piling up inside Will's head, but most couldn't be answered anymore. "How do I know which book to bring you?"

"In the first few pages there's an illustration of a creature." Zeller said, eyes squinting as if trying to visualize the picture.

"...A creature?" Will repeated an eyebrow arching as he held the pot tighter against his body.

"Yes," Price confirmed. " _A Red Dragon_."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( This took forever to update. I'm so sorry for taking so long my friends, it's very hard knowing exactly how you want a story to finish but being a lazy snail-person. More chapters to come during the next few weeks, thank you so much for sticking around and sorry once again! )


	6. An Old Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My sailor is as smiling  
> As the pleasant month of May  
> And often we have wandered  
> Through Ratcliffe Highway

"I must apologize for Will Graham, Sir Lecter. He often seems confused about his position within these walls."

The palace's kitchen was still unpopulated. A thick fog kept the sunlight from ever reaching the windows and awakening the people within the marble structure. The darkness of the night was long gone but it wasn't quite bright enough for the morning either. There they all stood in limbo; in a cruel and unnatural twilight. Neither dreaming or living. Such weather was a rarity during the summer. Something in the tides had changed.  
  
Abel Gideon stood up straight and elegant. All of him was marine greens and silver buttons. Hannibal Lecter took notice of the way he carried himself. A peacock which did not display all of its feathers. Only the ones which were convenient to him.

"Not all of us can be as confident as to where we  _belong_  as you are, Abel."

Silence filled the kitchen. Hannibal Lecter remained seated with both of his hands neatly folded on top of the table where a few moments ago he had been bandaging Will Graham's wounded hand. He had enjoyed the interaction. Hannibal had watched a defying and angry man turn into something softer underneath his hands. Something collected; in control. _A shepherd dog choosing not to savage the sheep._ Abel Gideon however seemed restless. He stood in front of the cook with an impatient set of ringed fingers drumming against his own thigh. The round little man had to shut his eyes and take a deep breath before continuing; as if the next words would break the rules of an unspoken game.

"I thought we had a _deal._ "

Sir Lecter didn't seem to react at first, he himself felt as if he had been caught off guard by Gideon's words. But after a few moments he finally offered a small smile.  
  
" _We do_."

"Then why are you mingling with everyone _except_ Chilton? Is it your intention to spite me?!"

"Raising your voice towards a guest is rather rude, Abel." Hannibal mentioned, his finger casually acknowledging the cuts left upon the table. "And not very discreet." 

"Bringing you here was not exactly _discreet_ either, now was it?" Gideon sighed, shaking his head while looking away. "I expected a little more _appreciation_ for what I've done."

"I do appreciate it, Abel. How can I prove this to you?" 

Hannibal raised his gaze from the mistreated surface to meet Gideon's eyes. The way the foreigner spoke of the subject made it seem as if the two of them were discussing the strange weather. But while Hannibal disguised the seriousness of the subject through pleasant smiles and soft tones, Abel Gideon made no effort to lighten the mood. His lips slowly parted to hint at a snarl.

"You _know_ how."

The cook examined Gideon for a moment, measuring him, before finally getting up from his seat.  
  
Hannibal was much taller than Gideon and casted a large shadow upon the little lord's figure. Abel noticed this and gave a few small steps back in an attempt to avoid the darkness projected by his guest. He didn't quite manage to do so. _He was in too deep._  
  
"I always keep my promises, Gideon. But matters such as these take time. Perfection mustn't be rushed. We cannot afford to be _reckless_." He walked towards Gideon who did his best to stand his ground. He stuck his chest out and arched his brow with the pride only someone with blue-blood could afford to have. But Sir Lecter saw something in his eyes. A quiver. A second of insecurity which the little man thought to have hidden very well. That was enough for Hannibal to know who was _truly_ in control of this little game. 

Gideon cleared his throat.  
  
"I would say that _"we"_ have been pretty reckless already."

* * *

Will had never felt more nervous about going to bed.

Dozens of servants stretched and undressed, readying themselves for a night of deep sleep. Will eyed everyone with a restless blue gaze which quickly focused on the floor beneath his feet when a man with a broken nose passed by him. Graham had been responsible for that man's new disfigurement. He could still remember the bones cracking underneath his knuckles, the blood which had stained his clothes, the thrill that came attached to Will's blinding fury. Even now as he examined the other servant's bruised visage, Will couldn't help but feel something within his chest; a misplaced sense of _pride._

His hand no longer hurt. Will had even forgotten the gruesome imagery which hid beneath the bandages. 

Soon enough everyone would be asleep. Snores and soft breaths filled up the small room while Will laid there, eyes wide and nostrils flaring with anxiety. 

The witching hour came, in which the whole world seemed to fall into silence. Only the distant sound of waves crashing against rocks persisted. It was by this time that Will got up and walked as silently as possible towards the women's sleeping area, separated by a piece of cloth which served as a curtain and a few moths' occasional meal. With his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Graham managed to tip toe across the several improvised beds which spread across the floor. Women cradled together and sighed unaware of Will's presence in their territory.

He found Beverly's bed.

And to his surprise it remained empty. Nobody had claimed the small living space as their own. Everyone believed Beverly to have died of disease and probably feared being offered the same fate if interacting with her belongings; like Will, she did not have many of those. Just a pile of unfolded blankets and unwashed clothes to call her own. Will tried looking beneath the mess on her bed but found nothing. No pages or books. Nothing underneath, nothing over, nothing strategically hidden at the corners. All there was was an unmade bed and a pillow that felt as hard as wood. The man felt hopelessness filling up within his chest and threatening to crawl up and out of his throat. What he was doing wouldn't bring Beverly back. If anything, this little quest of his only prolonged his sorrow. Will tried to bury his face in Beverly's pillow...

But as his hands patted it a few times, sadness was replaced with puzzlement.  
  
There was something in there besides hay.

The servant pulled at the pillow's stitches, ripping them apart and once he stuck his hand inside, Will grabbed it.

A book!  
  
That had to be it. Will attempted to flip through the pages, searching for the picture of the dragon he had been told about but was abruptly interrupted by a distant voice.

 **"You."** Graham felt his heart drop to his stomach as he slowly turned around to stare at a round figure, holding the curtain to the women's sleeping area wide open. The moonlight made the silhouette seem distorted, hostile. Will swallowed dryly and the shadow slowly raised its arm to point directly at him. " _Drop the cheese._ "

A few women woke, throwing a couple of shoes at Franklyn's head, forcing the sleepwalker to leave the area while others hissed lazy demonstrations of outrage.

_Will could breathe again._

He remained very still, sitting on Beverly's bed, holding the book against his chest while waiting for the whole room to fall back into deep sleep. And for a moment he considered laying down. Pressing his head against where his best friend had once slept so peacefully. Try to breathe in whatever was left of Beverly Katz. But Will was afraid that if he stayed there too long, the tears that had been building up behind his eyes since yesterday would finally come loose. And Will knew it wouldn't be a silent cry muffled against a pillow. He could feel its' monstrous dimensions already building up and tightening the muscles of his neck. Will wanted to scream.

He needed to get out of there, go to Zeller and Price and give them back the damned thing. Will wanted to know what had happened to his friend. If something had attacked her, Will Graham would find that thing. He'd hunt it down and skin it alive. But if her death had been nothing but a random misfortune...

_It was time to move._

After a few minutes of quiet and careful walking, Will was finally out of the servants' sleeping quarters and walking through long dark hallways.

He'd need to climb a long flight of stairs to get to the two scholars, which Will wouldn't mind doing if he did not feel so anxious. The complete silence in which the palace was emerged made every movement of Will's seem extremely loud. Every time he sighed through his mouth he thought the noblemen and women safely tucked in their beds would wake from their slumber. He tried breathing through his nose but found himself trapped within his head with nothing but his own heavy breaths and paranoid thoughts. Even his heartbeat seemed to echo across the halls.  
  
Louder and louder and _louder_.

Until Will realized that his heartbeat did sound exceptionally loud.

The man stopped and pressed a hand against his chest only to find that the noise he heard was out of synch with his own body.   
  
The sound didn't come from Will's chest.  
  
It came from somewhere else.  
  
It was distant at first but slowly the noise which followed Will became clearer.  
  
Footsteps. And they sounded close.   
  
Will tried to peek around a corner in an attempt to spot who else was out of bed at such late hours. They made an odd sound. Skin against stone over and over and over...Whoever was out of bed was as barefoot as him. Perhaps another servant. Nobles were far too delicate to risk having their feet pressed against the cold stone. They'd get sick over the strangest things while the servants' bodies grew more defenses against the cold sea breeze. Some would die along the way, but day by day it became clearer to Will that those at the bottom of the pyramid were not only more numerous...They were also stronger.  
  
The footsteps had stopped.  
  
He held his breath.  
  
And all of a sudden, Will's peripheral vision was nothing but emerald scales in the moonlight.

"--Lect--"

Will felt his feet suddenly leaving the ground when one hand wrapped around his throat. Calloused fingers sunk into the servant's skin and the pressure applied forced Graham to gasp loudly. But the sound would be muffled against the palm of another hand, which made sure everyone in the palace remained undisturbed and unaware of the controversial meeting happening right under their noses.   
  
The surprise had made Will drop the book and focus his grip around the wrist of his attacker instead. As much as he tried to kick at Hannibal's legs, whenever he felt impact, the arms wrapped around him would lift him a bit further away from the ground, threatening to choke the life out of Will's body.

"I'll need you to stop struggling, Will."  
  
The voice was surprisingly soft against his ear. Nothing but a whisper. Such an odd contrast to the promise of violence alarming every inch of Will's body. He refused to ease into it. Will tried to yank Hannibal's hands off of him, tried to squirm away from the man but instead he ended up getting his back pressed tighter against the foreigner's chest and his throat squeezed into a rougher hold. After a few seconds, Will's body stopped moving altogether. He breathed furiously through his nostrils while both blue panicked eyes shifted across the dark hallway, desperately looking for help. There was no one there.

Just Hannibal and Will and the sound of crashing waves.  
  
"I once met a wise man who believed that humans derived from beasts rather than heavenly clay." Will made an effort to tilt his head away from the cook's mouth. He could feel every word spoken by him vibrating against his back and spreading across his torso. Like a dark tide pulling him under. "He believed that every man and woman were simply creatures who had grown tired of the lawless animal kingdom and shed their fur, feathers and scales in an attempt to put a stop to the injustices of the food chain. They ceased eating each other and began picking up books. They learned new skills that would allow them to live in harmony and peace for the rest of their days. However...As soon as these new humans felt teeth closing in on their necks, they'd drop their books..." Will hissed against the man's hand. " _And exhibit their fangs._ "

The hand over Will's mouth slowly relieved its' pressure until it pulled away completely, the one which had once squeezed his neck relieved Will's throat enough for him to swallow dryly and clear his head from the lack of oxygen. Will thought of making a move then; he needed to pull away from the man and grab Beverly's book. Run to Zeller and Price, they'd know what to do. They'd believe him. Will grimaced, pretending to let his muscles relax against Hannibal's taller and wider frame. 

"Are you planning to sink yours into me?"

He didn't care much for the answer. He simply wanted to keep Sir Lecter distracted in order for him to break free from his grip.  
  
But the larger man turned his head, his face burying itself in Graham's dark curls. Will thought he heard the other man quietly inhaling. _Smelling him._

When his mouth slowly traced along the scar on the back of Will's skull, the servant's body seemed to go numb.

_"I already have."  
_

* * *

 Will woke up breathless.  
  
He was back in the servants' sleeping chambers, sitting alone and confused.

He could hear the morning birds singing and several distant footsteps busily moving around the castle's floors.

What time was it? How had he ended up there? Had the meeting with Hannibal Lecter been nothing but a dream? If yes, had everything he had done that night been nothing but his imagination? Had he not found Beverly's book? Had he even looked for it? 

The servant shifted underneath the thin blanket of his bed and suddenly winced. When he pressed a hand against the side of his head he found trails of dry blood over his fingers.

It hadn't been a dream.  
  
Lecter had attacked and knocked him out.

But why?

Slowly the realization of his failure began to sink into his stomach.

_The book._

The man quickly threw his blanket off his bed, patting across the improvised mattress. Nothing. He got up and ran to Beverly's emptied bed, feeling every inch of it, searching, looking. It was gone. Hannibal Lecter took it. _Hannibal had the book._ Will rubbed his face frustratedly. He needed to speak with Zeller and Price. Tell them what had happened...Maybe Alana would believe him too. She had been socializing an awful lot with Lecter, maybe she could help Will understand what had happened. Oh but she was upset. Upset with him. Zeller and Price didn't seem to particularly like him either. If only Beverly was there...She would have known what to do...

Will patted his cheeks in an attempt to keep himself focused. There was much to do, much to tell and much yet to understand.

He needed, first of all, to get dressed. Everyone was already upstairs, perhaps nobody had noticed he was missing.

Will was correct. When he got to the upper floor he was simply handed a jar of wine and told to go fill up a few emptied cups.

Nobles stretched their arms, ignored Will and relished in their early consumption of alcohol. Everything was right in the world after all. Except Will. Will wasn't right. He barely fit within the palace's walls before and now he felt more isolated than ever. He was painfully aware that his word would be worth nothing against Hannibal's. Even if anyone was to believe him, he was just a servant boy! Filling his pockets with rocks and tossing him into the sea wouldn't cause any tears. Will wondered if Alana would cry for him. He caught a glimpse of her while pouring wine. Always dressed in white, always beautiful. A perfect pearl among the filth. Will's gaze lingered on her. Alana glanced back but only for a second. If anyone ought to believe him nowadays it was her... After all they had been through surely Alana knew that Will was not crazy. He had to tell her about Hannibal. Had to ask her to stay away from him. To not speak to him or smile at him or let him kiss her hand or rest his on her lower back...

Alana chuckled in the distance.

Will frowned.

_Had they fucked?_

"Ooooh, Servant boy! My cup needs filliiiing...!"

Graham forced himself to look away only to find Price and Zeller gesturing at him, beckoning for Will to approach them in perhaps the least discreet way possible. Arms flailed and eyes widened at him, as if he already had done something wrong. He walked over and began to fill their cups. Price tilted his head in an attempt to find the younger man's eyes beneath his dark brown curls.

"Do you have it?"

"Where is it?"

Will shifted his eyes uncomfortably.

"...I had it. But I lost it."

Both men squinted at Will. Then at each other. Then back at Will.

"What?!" Squealed Price.

"How do you even go about losing a book that big?" Hissed Zeller.

"I was attacked. Last night I got knocked out before I could ever reach you...He took the book..."

"Who did?"

"Hannibal. Hannibal Lecter..."

"What? The cook?" 

 Before Will could explain himself, Zeller grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him further away from the busy room into a darker corner where the sunlight couldn't reach them. "How do I know you're not lying? Hm? Maybe you just kept the book to yourself!" Will winced when feeling fingers pulling his hair. Price tried to hush his colleague, but Zeller didn't seem like he was ready to listen. "Where is it? Where did you hide it?!" The servant tried to keep his hold on the heavy jar of wine steady while trying to escape the other man's grasp at the same time. He could feel drops of red liquid spilling out and soaking the bandage over his knuckles. 

"I didn't steal it--!"

"Come on, you're gonna make a scene--"

"I'm not leaving until he tells me where the book--"

 **"Master Zeller!"** Alana called.

Her voice echoed across the room like the first thunder of an incoming storm. All eyes were on her. She looked like a marble statue. Despite her height not surpassing any of theirs, she still seemed to look down at all three men. Perhaps they had all shrunk, Will thought. A woman like Alana had the power of seeming larger than life; a fish too big for the small aquarium it had been confined in. Had Chilton not wedded her and Alana would have gone out to conquer the world. 

"...Yes, your highness?" Zeller asked in a sheepish tone.

"I will not allow this sort of behavior in my presence. We do **not**  humiliate those responsible for feeding and cleaning us." Her lips gracefully curled into a well-rehearsed smile. "Although that would explain your current undernourished and untrimmed state, Master Zeller." There's a moment of silence among the group. Both Zeller and Price blink rapidly at the woman, trying to think of how to respond to her words in such a way that would make it possible for their dignity to be defended and Alana _non_ -offended. But there was no time for a response. The raven haired queen turned to face Will Graham and with a firm nod of her head ordered him to follow her. Which he did. Very quickly, leaving Zeller to glare at the back of his head while Price rubbed his temples.

 

They walked along the room in complete silence for what felt like a thousand years. Will struggling to keep up with Alana while carrying his jar of wine, falling a few steps behind her while she held her head tall, eyes cold and fixed in the distance. An elegant swan neck surrounded by light white fabric...She looked untouchable to most. But if one looked a bit closer, just over the collar of her dress, near Alana's shoulder, there was a yellowish mark of a rough grip already fading away. They had reached the opposite side of the room, away from Zeller and Price and the drinking nobles.

"Thank you," Will whispered. But when Alana finally turned to face him, her expression showed very little tolerance. 

 _"What are you doing?"_ She nearly hissed the question. "Everywhere I turn I seem to find you alienating others! You cannot afford this kind of hostility, Will! You'll get yourself killed!" Her eyes stared deep into the servant's, looking for some kind of response. Will had to look away. Alana's stare spoke too loudly. It was overwhelming but also comforting to know that she cared for someone like him. "Starting fights? Offending the Masters?" Will thought he saw Alana's hand twitch. He thought she might have wanted to touch him then; hold his hand. Instead, she laced her fingers together and kept her distance. "Even when you're shown kindness you seem to show such hostility, Will... _It hurts others more than you think_..." 

"Alana," Will tried, his voice soft and careful. "I never meant to hurt you. You must know that. If anything I want to protect you. You're..." He had to lower his head to avoid her gaze once again. "...You're the closest thing to _home_ I've ever had." Will tried to look at Alana then. And there was a small hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. He wanted to kiss her then. Make her smile widen within the depths of his mouth; something to call his own. But Will was reminded of his mission then. The hold on the jar of wine tightened. "Which is why I want to warn you about Hannibal Lecter,"

Alana's brow furrowed, any trace of softness swept away once more. "What?"

"Alana, he is not what he seems! He's not just some cook as Gideon wants us to believe, he's dangerous!"

She raised one of her pale hands, indicating Will to stop speaking. "...I know, Will."

The servant nearly spilled some wine onto him. Knowing that there was someone out there who did not find him crazy nearly made his knees buckle. It was such a rare sensation nowadays, that of companionship and trust. His blue eyes widened at the noblewoman. "You do?"

"Yes. Sir Lecter has told me all about it." Alana said softly. 

Will felt something cold brushing down his spine. "...Told you what, exactly?"

"He told me that he was not a cook. That he was actually a prince from a faraway land from across the sea. He told me the name but I cannot pronounce it. He speaks such an odd language, Will, you cannot tell if he's making it up or not..." She smiled. Will didn't like the way Alana smiled while thinking of Lecter. "...He fell in love with a woman. She had red hair down to her waist and was very intelligent. Not of a wealthy family but remarkable nonetheless. Remarkable enough to catch Sir Lecter's attention...But she was promised to another man...Hannibal challenged her betrothed to a duel. Neither of the families approved of it. And Hannibal killed the poor man during the fight. He was exiled due to his crime and hasn't seen his home and lover since. Don't worry though, Will. He is not dangerous. All the horrors he committed were due to nothing but love..."

Will stared at Alana, his lips parted in disbelief.

"...Alana... **None** of that is true."

" _He said it himself,_ "

"Hannibal is a **monster** \--"

" _You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love,_ "

"Alana, he **attacked** me last night while everyone was asleep--!"

"And I understand the pain that comes with not choosing those you love, Will." She raised her voice then, trying to keep Will's words unheard. "My mother told me that love was meant to elevate and strengthen us...But the man I am supposed to love _degrades_ me. And the one I do love _weakens_ me." Silence filled the space between them and Will felt a strange sense of vertigo. As if a large gap has appeared between him and Alana. He wanted to reach out and grab her hand, pull her closer, make sure they remained on the same side, but his hands were occupied with the wine. Alana seemed to be holding back tears but Will couldn't tell for sure. She had learned to hide away her sadness so well it made her seem too distant sometimes. "You see evil and corruption in everyone! I am not allowed to forgive or defend anyone but you! You're so afraid of being hurt you make sure you wound others first, Will. And I am **exhausted.** _I think I deserve a friend who's not out for blood._ "

"Alana."

"You're wrong about Hannibal Lecter, Will. You really are."

Her eyes lingered for a few moments. There was still time for her to leap over the gap and land next to Will. Let him hold her, kiss away her tears, apologize for all the harm done. But Alana simply turned around and walked away.

Her heels clicked clacked against the marbled floors. Its' echoes hit Will like a series of stabs. 

He was alone once again.

Will watched as the raven haired angel walked out of the room and out of his reach.

And just above the large door, on the upper floor, something looked back at Will, in the shadows, quietly sipping on its' blood red wine.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( I am truly sorry for how long this chapter took and how I made 0 announcements about this long wait. But I truly think I'll be able to post more often now. Uni has calmed down a bit and I've gotten more free time during the past month, hopefully I won't let you guys down x thank you for sticking around and reading these messy things, I hope you like what I have planned for poor Will )


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